Crystal Lies

by Melody Carlson

  “How are Rod and Mark?”

  “They’re both doing better, I think. Although they seem to be stuck in this crazy vengeance mode right now. Mark got the names of some of the kids who were involved that night, and Rod is set on suing those boys.”

  “Well, what they did was sort of like murder, Sherry. Something should be done. Don’t you think?”

  “Of course, but I just wish Rod would leave it for the D.A. to work out. It’s so stressful when he talks about it all the time, as if he’s obsessed by it. And it won’t bring Matthew back.”

  “I know, but it might spare someone else’s son.”

  She nodded. “Yes, you’re probably right. Speaking of sons, how’s Jacob doing?”

  I paused from slicing the aromatic loaf of rosemary bread that I had splurged on at Delicato’s Bakery—just for Sherry. “I haven’t seen him since last week,” I confessed. “And he wasn’t doing too well then.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I hoped that things had changed for him. He seemed better at Matthew’s funeral.”

  “It comes and goes,” I told her as I put several slices of bread in the napkin-lined basket. “Crystal meth is like that. Kind of up and down. Sometimes he seems like he’s doing really great.” I paused to rinse the bread knife. “And ironically enough, he probably seems like he’s doing better when he’s high. It’s when he’s coming down that he gets really agitated and difficult. At least that’s what Marcus says.”

  “Marcus?”

  “He’s the rehab counselor who teaches the codependent classes at Hope’s Wings.”

  “Any chance of getting Jacob to go in?”

  “I keep hoping. And he’s been evaluated, and they’re willing to take him—but only if he’s willing to go.”

  “And he’s not?”

  “No. According to him, he can fix this thing himself.”

  As we ate our lunch, I filled her in on all the other sordid details of the past few weeks of my life—about the divorce papers and losing the Range Rover, as well as Sarah’s continued standoff against me. I suppose I thought that all the dismal gloom in my life might somehow make hers look a bit better.

  “Any plans for Thanksgiving?” she asked.

  “No. I feel like I need to stick around for Jacobs sake, in case he shows up.”

  “I haven’t even decided what we’ll do this year. All I know is that I don’t want to be home. I don’t want us all sitting around the table, looking at the chair where Matthew used to sit, and feeling bad.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I suppose we’ll visit my parents.”

  “My mother tried to get me to join her and Sarah in Phoenix.” I sighed. “To be honest, the sunshine sounds tempting. And I wouldn’t mind getting a chance to talk to Sarah—”

  “Oh, you should go out there, Glennis.”

  “I would, but I’d feel so guilty about Jacob. What if he wanted to come home or needed help, and I wasn’t here for him?”

  She frowned. “I can see your point. But then you can’t keep doing that forever, you know. I mean putting your life on hold for Jacob. Isn’t that what being a codependent is about?”

  I nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s a hard habit to break. Sometimes I don’t think the classes or even the books I read do me a speck of good. It’s so hard to step completely out of his life, Sherry. I mean he doesn’t really have anyone else to fall back on right now.”

  “What’s going on with Geoffrey these days? Can’t he help out?”

  “Oh, he’s perfectly willing to pay the big bucks to get Jacob into some fancy rehab place in Colorado. And, believe me, that would be wonderfid. I’d be the first one to jump up and down with joy. The only problem is that Jacob totally refuses to have anything to do with his father, including his generous offer. Jacob is certain that Geoffrey simply wants to get rid of him—an embarrassment, you know. And I suppose he may be right.”

  “Well, I’m sure it’ll all work out…in time.” Sherry looked tired now, and I suspected this conversation had drained her even more.

  “I’ve really missed you,” I told her as I began clearing the table. “And I’ve been reading the Bible verses you gave me, and I think its helping some.”

  “Good for you.” She refilled her teacup. “Maybe I should start reading them myself. Practice what I preach, you know” I smiled. “I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I heard that you’ve been going to my church.”

  “See,” I told her,“I’ve been following your orders.”

  “Good girl.”

  “And you were right. It does help.”

  She sighed. “God seems so far away from me now, Glennis. It’s as if there’s this wall between us.”

  I placed a small plate of Delicato’s famous white-chocolate-and-macadamia-nut cookies on the table, then sat back down. “That’s how I felt too,” I confessed. “Back when everything in my life was falling apart.”

  “But you’re over it now?”

  “Over it? Yeah, I wish. Let’s just say that it’s slowly getting better. But, believe me, I have good days and bad days. I’m beginning to think it’s a matter of faith. Of choosing, you know.”

  “Choosing what?” Her brow was creased with interest.

  “Like to believe that God is really good despite everything.”

  “And you’re able to do that?”

  “I’m trying. That’s why I say it’s a matter of faith.”

  She nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “I still have a hard time getting to sleep at night,” I admitted. “Or if I actually go to sleep, then I wake up in the wee hours of the morning feeling certain that Jacob is dead or dying.”

  “I do that too.” She shook her head. “Only I realize it’s true. Matthew is dead.”

  “But what about heaven, Sherry? Don’t you believe that Matthew is in heaven?”

  “I try to believe it. But there are times—probably when my old fundamentalist upbringing raises its ugly head—when I worry about the way that he died, you know, out in a bar and drinking. And then I’m not so sure.

  “But you know as well as anyone that Matthew had recommitted his heart—”

  “Then why was he there that night, Glennis? Why was he getting so drunk that he wasn’t even thinking straight?”

  “We all make mistakes,” I told her. “Surely you don’t think a loving God was up there shaking his finger at Matthew that night, saying, ‘Sorry, son, you blew it tonight. Can’t let you in?”

  She sort of smiled now. “No, I can’t imagine a loving God saying that. Still, I can wish it had never happened.”

  “Me, too.”

  We talked some more, and then Sherry announced that it was time to go. “I promised to attend an annual sales meeting this afternoon. I’m really trying to get back into the swing of things,” she told me as she gathered up her coat and purse.

  “That’s probably good.”

  “This was really nice.” She smiled. “And I did notice that you fixed all of my favorite things.” She reached out and hugged me. “And I really appreciate all your encouragement today.”

  “Well, I learned from the best,” I told her.

  “And it seems like you’re really coming along,” she said as she walked to the door. “I think you’re going to make it after all, Glennis.” Then she said good-bye and left.

  I wished I felt as certain as she did about my making it. Mostly I felt as though I’d put on a pretty good show for my best friend. Oh, not that the things I said weren’t true. I mean I really was trying to have faith and to trust God. But it wasn’t coming nearly as easily as I had made it sound today. Still, if it helped Sherry to believe that I was “coming along,” well, maybe it was worth it.

  Jacob made a quick appearance the following day. To my surprise he looked like he was doing okay. He told me that he’d just gotten a job at a video store and was staying with friends until he could afford a place of his own. “Sorry I did
n’t call or anything,” he said.

  “Is there a number where I can reach you?” I asked.

  “No, there’s not a phone.”

  “How about your work number?”

  “Look, Mom, you don’t have to keep checking up on me. I can take care of myself.”

  “But what if—”

  “Really, I just stopped by to let you know I was okay. And I’m doing fine. So don’t worry, okay?”

  I nodded but still felt unsure. I also remembered what Marcus had said as I realized that Jacob’s upbeat appearance might have more to do with being high than being healthy. “Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?” I asked.

  “Is it Thanksgiving this week?”

  “Yes. If you like, I could fix us a small turkey or something.”

  He smiled. “Sure, Mom, that’d be nice. Maybe I could bring the guys from the band. I don’t think they have anything planned.”

  “Yes,” I said eagerly. “I’d love to meet them. How many should I plan for?”

  “There are six of us, counting me. But then Barry probably won’t come. I think he’s going to his girlfriend’s.”

  “Great,” I told him. “What time do you think would be good?”

  “Maybe in the afternoon,” he suggested. “Like around two or so.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  Then he reached out and hugged me. “Thanks, Mom. That’ll be really cool.”

  Already calculating where I could seat everyone in the tiny apartment, I knew it would be a squeeze. But I knew I could make it work. “This will be fun, Jacob,” I said.

  “Well, I gotta go, Mom. I just wanted to let you know I was okay.”

  “I appreciate it, Jacob. I really wish you’d stay in touch more.”

  “I’ll try to do better, Mom,” he promised. “Life is looking good for me right now.”

  I nodded.

  “By the way, do you think I could borrow a couple of bucks?” he asked casually. “I’m kind of broke at the moment, and I promised Justin that I’d pay him back, but I don’t get paid until Friday.”

  “I’m a little low,” I told him, which was only partially true. I actually had a fair amount of cash since I’d just been to the bank. But I was worried about giving him very much. Marcus had told us how anything more than ten dollars was enough for an addict to go out and get a hit of crystal meth. If the addict knew the right people, that is, and I had a feeling Jacob did. Marcus had explained how it was better to give food or clothes than actual cash. And also to avoid giving anything that could be sold or returned to a store for cash. I went into the bedroom and dug out a five and a couple of ones, plus some loose change. “Sorry,” I lied to my only son. “This is all I can spare right now.”

  He looked disappointed but didn’t say as much. I felt certain he’d been expecting at least a twenty. Still, I reminded myself, I might not be able to get him to go to rehab, but I didn’t need to support his habit.

  “I love you,” I said as he headed out the door.

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  After the door closed, I wondered if I should’ve asked him about rehab again. But then why bother? He knew that I desperately wanted him to go, that I was willing to drop everything to take him over, that I’d probably even sell my vital organs just to get him in. What good did it do to continually nag him? Perhaps it was better if I backed off a little. Maybe it would help him to see this need for himself.

  All the various warnings I’d heard and read about codependency and enabling during these past few weeks seemed to be echoing through my brain. Naturally, that only made me feel totally inadequate as well as quite certain that some experts, including Marcus, might say I was a complete fool to give Jacob a single penny, not to mention my offer to fix Thanksgiving dinner for him and his, most likely, junkie friends.

  But books and lectures don’t always speak to a mother’s heart. And perhaps some of the best lessons in life are, after all, learned the hard way. Fortunately, I was able to distract myself during the next couple of days as I forced my tiny kitchen to produce the Thanksgiving dishes that I’d so easily prepared in the past. I felt like a Pilgrim commando as I shoved the large turkey into the small oven, hoping that there’d still be room for rolls. And, feeling festive, I even arranged some Indian corn and brightly colored gourds among the candles I’d set out on the coffee table.

  So why was I shattered and shocked when my turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pies were all done, and the table was all set, but nobody showed? I mean, really, why was I surprised? The warm aromas of favorite dishes had comforted me temporarily, but my fuzzy feelings vanished when I realized it was four o’clock, and once again I had been duped by my son.

  Oh, it was entirely possible that Jacob had had every intention of coming for dinner and bringing his music buddies. But he’d probably simply forgotten. Most likely a result of his addiction and substance abuse. I knew that addicts had difficulty keeping appointments. I just hoped he was okay and not strung out or lying unconscious on the freezing street somewhere. This was another one of those times I wished I’d gotten that boy a dog-tag ID to wear around his neck. That way if he wound up in the emergency room or worse, he could at least be identified.

  I paced back and forth in my little apartment, still hoping that Jacob and his friends might show up apologetic and hungry. But I knew this wasn’t going to happen. The sky was growing dusky as I peered out the window and down the street, hoping beyond hope to see a small band of renegades making their way toward the apartment complex. But the street remained surprisingly quiet. Everyone was probably tucked away in warm houses, sleeping off the effects of too much turkey and dressing.

  I turned and looked at my feast, now cold and unappealing. My appetite had faded with my hopes, and for a moment I considered simply throwing the whole mess out. But that would be such a waste, and I had used nearly two weeks of my grocery budget for this dinner. Suddenly I remembered the story that Jesus had told about the man who had prepared a feast but no one had come. That man had sent his servants out to the streets to invite all the poor people. Of course, I had no servants to send out. And, as it was, I had already invited the poor people. After all, who was poorer than my son at the moment?

  Then I remembered Jack Smart and Cammie and her two kids downstairs. Was it possible they might be interested in a Thanksgiving dinner this evening? Was the dinner even fit to serve? Without giving myself time to rethink or question myself, I pulled on a jacket and ran downstairs.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Cammie as she opened the door. She looked haggard and tired, and I could hear the kids arguing back in a bedroom.

  “I know this sounds crazy,” I began,“but I have this big Thanksgiving dinner upstairs. And, well, my guests never came, and I was, well, wondering if—”

  “I would love to come!” she exclaimed, grabbing my hand. “I’d do anything to get out of this place today. The kids are driving me bonkers, and I was going to make macaroni and cheese. What time can we come?”

  I smiled. “Give me about thirty minutes to warm things up.”

  “Cool!” She turned and yelled,“Avery! Warren! Get ready. We’re going out tonight.”

  I waved and took off for Jack Smart’s apartment, certain that I couldn’t get lucky twice in a row. But there was Jack in his slippers and cardigan.

  “Are you hungry for turkey?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Well, I did have a turkey TV dinner for my lunch, Glennis. But it sure wasn’t anything to write home about.”

  “Well, I have turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie,” I explained. “And my guests never came, so I thought I’d invite some neighbors.”

  “Sounds delicious.” He smacked his lips. “Can I bring anything?”

  “Just your sweet self,” I told him. “Give me about thirty minutes to get it together.”

  “Hello, Jack,” called a woman’s voice down the hall.

  “That’s Mrs. Gardner,” said Jack in a
quiet voice. “Widow lady, been here for years.” Then he called out a greeting to her and quickly introduced us.

  “Would you like to join us for turkey dinner?” I asked her without even thinking it might sound strange.

  She seemed surprised but pleased. “Why, that’d be very nice, dear. Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. I made enough to feed a small army, or a rock band.” I smiled. “Anyway, no one showed up, and I’d hate to let it go to waste.”

  So it was settled. Jack and Mrs. Gardner and Cammie and her two little ones would be my guests tonight.

  I was just turning on the oven to warm the food when the phone rang. I dashed for it, imagining it was Jacob saying that he and his friends were on their way. Well, even if that was so, they’d have to make do with a little less food. I certainly wasn’t about to turn my neighbors away now. But it was Marcus.

  “I just thought I’d see how you were doing,” he said. “I still remember how hard it was on the holidays in the beginning.”

  Touched by his thoughtfulness, I told him about fixing dinner for my no-shows.

  “That’s too bad, Glennis, but not too surprising. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”

  “I did the works,” I told him, describing the menu in detail.

  “Wow, that sounds good.”

  “Why don’t you come join us?”

  “Us? I thought you said no one showed up.”

  Then I explained my plan B to him, and he laughed. “I’d love to come.”

  “Great,” I said. “Hopefully the turkey won’t be too dry.”

  “I happen to like dry turkey.”

  “Then come on over.”

  So, what could’ve been a totally disastrous and depressing day turned out to be something of an adventure. The turkey wasn’t terribly dry, and the gravy was some of my best. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, and to my relief, all the leftovers fit in the refrigerator.

  Then, after dessert was finished, Cammie decided to lead our somewhat diverse group in a rousing game of charades. But eventually we realized that the generation gap was a serious challenge. (“Britney who?” asked a bewildered Jack Smart.) Plus, it was almost nine o’clock, and Avery and Warren were getting cranky, so the party began to break up.